Keeping Up Appearances

"Aging Gracefully" by Linda Moskalyk

One unavoidable hurdle one must face when turning fifty:  our appearance.  It's startling to look in the mirror and see a fifty year old staring back.  

Actually, until last year, I was feeling pretty good on this front.  I felt healthy and in shape and happy.  I considered myself reasonably fit, relative to others my age.

When I attended a joint 50th Birthday Party last summer, I was eager to reconnect with folks I hadn't seen since high school.  I was looking forward to the event, even though it had been a very stressful, challenging month leading up to the event -- my mother had passed away unexpectedly one month before  I was left, as her only relative, to sort out everything.  The strain of these weeks took its toll emotionally, psychologically and physically.  I wasn't sleeping well.  I was self-medicating with comfort food and comfort wine.

Still, when the party rolled around, I was feeling reasonably good about myself and my appearance.  Especially given the circumstances.

Okay, I confess:  I wasn't entirely delighted with the ravages of the prior month so I had my pal Jani do my makeup -- to work her professional magic to heal what she could.  

Let's be honest:  it's unnerving to meet people one hasn't seen for thirty-one years.  There's an assessment process inherent in the reconnection:  how do we look?  Are we recognizable from our teen selves?  How attractive are we?  And the kicker:  do we look (cough) fifty?

Well, apparently I went to high school with many very kind people.  They said very complementary things about my appearance -- and most of them didn't even know what hell I'd been going through. 

Subsequently, photos from the event were swapped and shared.  Damn.  Talk about a reality check.  The camera revealed the truth:  alas, I am a doughy, wrinkled, fifty year old.

Well, really, what was I expecting?  I am, after all, fifty.  Fitness has not been a focus of my life in recent years.  My drug of choice is food.  Runner up:  wine.  I have not partaken in plastic surgery or botox or any of the other California traditions.  

So what are my options?  I could go about changing my appearance -- exercise more, consume less, go under the knife.  Or I could change my attitude about my appearance.  To understand the folly of desiring to look younger or better than one does.  To accept my current state as it is.  To age gracefully.

At some point, most middle-aged people confront this issue:  how to deal with one's current appearance.  It's a very personal way of dealing with the crux of being fifty.  Our youth is gone.  Decades have flown by.  How do we want to present ourselves to the world at this point in time?  How shall we deal with the effects of the decades to come? 

I'd love to hear your thoughts on this -- message me or leave your comments below.

Check-in: Week Fifteen

Time flies. Already, I'm fifteen weeks into my Fiftieth year...one third of this milestone is already gone.

I'm delighted to report that I'm on track with my pretty much all of my projects for Making the Most of Turning Fifty, specifically:

* to enjoy (at least) 50 Frolics 

* to do (at least) 50 Creative Projects 

* to read (at least)  50 Books

* to make (at least) 50 New Recipes

* to watch (at least) 50 Films

* to listen -- really listen -- to (at least) 50 CDs

* to enjoy (at least) 50 Visits with friends

* to indulge in (at least) 50 Treats

What this means is that I'm spending my Fiftieth year doing a lot more of the things I truly love, with the people I truly care about.  I'm Making the Most of Turning Fifty, which is, after all the point of all this.

There are only three goals in which I am behind:

1.  To enjoy (at least) 50 Water Visits.

2.  To take (at least) 50 Fitness Classes, and

3.  To take (at least) 50 Fun Classes this year.  

I discussed this in an earlier post last month.  Since then, I have taken action to improve the situation.  I've made a point of getting myself (and my dogs) to the water more often.  I've planned some summertime visits to the shore. I've signed up for some fitness classes and have scouted for some fun ones.  

I've made progress, in other words.  And I'm committed to continue to do so.

One third of the way into my fiftieth year, I am pleased and energized by how my milestone year is unfolding.  Who could ask for more?

What's on Your Mind?

As part of Making the Most of Turning Fifty, I've been doing a lot of thinking lately.  I've been contemplating what's important and how I want to live my life.  

Part of this process has got me thinking about thinking itself. Specifically, I've asked myself what I spend time thinking about -- what occupies my mind during the day?

When I answered candidly, I was horrified to realize I spend the vast majority of my time thinking about 'to do's' and trivialities -- rather than contemplating writing ideas or jewelry designs or world events or art history or the meaning of life or dozens of other, more substantial topics. 

At first, I didn't believe it so I spent a few days paying attention to whatever was on my mind. The sad reality was that that few great weighty topics drifted across my consciousness.  Shockingly little occupied my mind, other than the day's 'to do's'.  Little thought was spent on The Big Picture.  Minimal brainstorming about cool creative projects. 

"I'm wasting my brain," I concluded.  "I'm frittering away my life, futzing over inconsequential matters."  I felt ashamed...and highly motivated to change the situation.  Which brought me to an important question:  What would I like to be thinking about?  On what would I prefer to be spending my mental energy? 

What a big impact this small shift in focus can have.  By asking myself this question daily, I'm delighted to report that I'm spending much more time contemplating topics that are important to me.

***

Quick!  What are you thinking about? What's on your mind right now?  

More importantly -- what would you like to be thinking about? On what would you prefer to be spending your mental energy?

 I'd love to hear your thoughts -- message me or leave a comment in the section below.

Back to the Gym

I’m woefully behind in my commitment to take (at least) 50 Fitness classes during my fiftieth year.  Life and my schedule have interfered and as a result I now have the muscle tone, flexibility and aerobic endurance of an overweight octogenarian.

This is a wee bit mortifying for someone who used to teach fitness classes professionally. 

 Okay, that was a few years ago and curtailed by a hip injury -- but still.  I’ve gone from teaching eight fitness classes a week (body sculpting, step, Pilates, yoga and circuit training) to being an erstwhile couch potato.

Being a gym rat doesn’t work for me.  I’ve tried.  Oscillating between elliptical, weight training machines, treadmill and free weights bore me to tears.  I have to force myself to the gym every time -- then force myself through the regime.

In contrast, I find fitness classes fun, social and highly motivating.  I like having a regularly scheduled fitness appointment.

So what’s the problem, then?  Why not just sign up for a class or two?  Alas, I’m a stickler for commitment. I won’t register for a class unless I know I can be there for the duration.  This year, my schedule is unsettled.  Either I’ve missed the deadlines to sign up...or I doubt I can make a commitment to be there for the full eight weeks.

The solution materialized yesterday.  The gym where I tried (and failed) to work out now offers classes that sounded interesting.  Zumba, for example.  I didn’t know what Zumba was, exactly, but I expected it to involve Latin music and choreography of some sort.  I enjoy choreography.  It requires brain power than makes me forget I’m exercising.

Full of mad resolve, I headed to the gym, destination:  Zumba.  I went early, actually, to catch the yoga class beforehand. I figured it would behoove me to stretch my carcass for the first time since my brief brush with Bikram (sweatbox) yoga in December. 

The hatha yoga class was a perfect re-entry into fitness.  Sedate and gentle.  It was so relaxing, in fact, that the guy beside me fell asleep and was snoring through the ‘death pose’ that concluded the class. 

Thankfully, the instructor picked that moment to burst into song.  Yes, song.  She serenaded us with a tune deftly performed in Urdu or possibly Sanskrit -- what I hope was a prayer or blessing, but really it could have been a Nepalese commercial for McDonalds, for all I know.  Whatever it was, it was lovely.

There were ten minutes between classes, so I shlepped to the machines and dutifully filled the interval with as many reps as I could muster.  It’s so not my thing...but better to fill the ten minutes with some gym-related activity, given my location.

Before the Zumba class began, I introduced myself to the instructor.

            “First timer,” I said, pointing at myself.  “What do I need to know about Zumba?”

            “Oh just watch me and have fun with it,” she said, wiggling her hips.  “Bring your own flava.”

            “Flava.  Ah,” I said.  “I’ll be in the back of the room and taking breaks when I need to.”

The music commenced and the class snapped into action.  In unison and with no verbal instruction, they snapped their heads to the right and left and commenced a series of isolations.  A typical warm up sequence.

            “Ah so it is like a dance class,” I said happily as I followed their lead.

The next song was a 1980’s classic dance tune...aptly heralding the next sequence of moves.  Moves reminiscent of those old time aerobics classes of the Jane Fonda workout/ headband/leg warmer era.

            “This is like right out of a 1980’s Jazzercise class,” I thought.  “Is this was Zumba is?  The  Jazzercize of the 2010’s?”

It was a blast from the past but a fun one.  You know how you can hear a song you haven’t heard in decades yet somehow recall all the lyrics?  Apparently, it’s the same with dance moves.  My body perked right up and followed right along as if it had done this choreography just yesterday.

Turns out this was another warm-up element.  When the third song commenced, it was, at last, time to Zumba.

Zumba, it turns out, is basically Latin dance moves with a dash of hip hop and a soupcon of bellydancing. Basically, it was a really fun dance class and I was in hog heaven.  It felt so damn good to MOVE.  I merengued and salsa’d and shimmied with my own version of 'flava'.  I shook my middle age carcass like no-one was watching. 

Before I knew it, the hour was up.  I was elated with the experience.  It felt more like a frolic than 'exercise'.  This was exactly the kind of class I’d been yearning to find...and even better, this is an ongoing class that occurs every Monday and Wednesday.  I don’t have to sign up for anything -- just show up when I’m in town. 

 
I’ll be showing up!  Zumba will be a fun and wonderful way to meet my commitment to participate in (at least) 50 Fitness Classes this year. 

A Matter of Life & Death

Last week, I got the phone call no woman wants to get:  The breast center found something 'odd' (their term) during my routine exam.  They scheduled me for more testing.

I returned for a bout of breast-twisting and smooshing so vigorous that I needed to remind the technician that my breasts were not, in fact, detachable. 

The subsequent ultrasound concluded with the pronouncement that whatever 'oddness' there was in the first tests was no longer evident.  I'm fine, in other words. And grateful for my continued good health. For the most part, I've been pretty darned healthy over the past five decades. I don't believe I take it for granted but events like this provide a great reminder to actively appreciate my health.

This was also a vivid example of yet another bout of gratitude characterizing my fiftieth year. In reflecting over my life, I can't help but be grateful for many of my experiences thus far.  The opportunities to travel, to learn and to create figure prominently.  

I've made a point of expressing appreciation for significant people in my life, personally and professionally.  (More on that in an upcoming post).

I'm also aware that I've sidestepped a lot of drama that other people endure. I'm grateful to have lived a relatively unburdened life. (I suspect one reason that I've been thrown so off kilter by my mother's recent, unexpected passing is that I've had so little drama to deal with in the past. It's been an adjustment to handle the many challenges that have arisen as a result of her untimely death).

Another thing I've noticed lately is that I'm much more appreciative of the little blessings in  my daily life. 

For example, this was one of those weekends that felt good, rich and full.  Nothing particularly exciting was happening...just playing with our dogs, pruning fruit trees, reading, installing mosaic tile, playing board games, listening to music and whatnot...and yet the overriding emotion throughout was one of 'contentment'.  It just felt good to 'be'.

One of my professional heroes is M.J. Ryan, author of Attitudes of Gratitude -- a seminal book on the topic. She contributed a wonderful story to my co-authored Happiness book that demonstrated 'blessings in disguise'.  The punchline:  some gifts come wrapped in sandpaper.  

Take Lisa for example.  She underwent simple day surgery and things went horribly wrong.  She went into anaphylactic shock and almost died. Doesn't sound like much of a gift or blessing, does it?  But when Lisa unwrapped the metaphorical sandpaper, she found plenty.

"Well this experience certainly did wake me up," she wrote me recently.  "I am no longer complacent or bored.  I am grateful for the people in my life and mindful of how I treat people.   Normally we keep birthdays pretty quiet,  I decided then and there that I was never taking another birthday for granted.   We had 35 people here to help me celebrate my 50th last July.   I joined the gym, and am getting very active.  Enjoying life and renewing old friendships and nurturing the existing ones....I just joined a yoga class and am going to sign up for conversational Italian. (I am aiming to be fluent enough for a future trip to Italy)." 

Now you needn't wait for a matter of life and death to be grateful or to express gratitude for all that's in your life. Turning fifty is a natural time to reflect on life thus far -- and to express appreciation for all the people and events for which we're grateful -- and yet the milestone doesn't matter.  Whatever our age, we have the capacity for gratitude every day we breathe.

It doesn't matter what's going on in our lives -- there's always *something* for which we can be grateful.  We're breathing.   We have water to drink.  We have food and shelter. Starting with the basics and expanding gratitude for every bonus we experience is a powerful practice.  It casts our lives in a more positive light.  It shifts our focus to what's working well, rather that what's not.  

Daily gratitude begets more of what we love in life. The more we appreciate certain aspects of life, the more we foster them.  (Try it and see -- every day for the next week, write down ten things for which you're grateful.  Aim for ten different items every day. Watch watch happens).


I would argue that daily gratitude IS a matter of life and death.  Without being grateful for what we have and what we experience, what's the point of living? 


*****


What about you?  I'd love to know about your experience with gratitude.  Message me or leave a comment.

Overcoming the Parent/Non-Parent Gulf

My friend Patricia recently had a baby girl -- her first child.  I'm tickled for her and yet also sad because I know she'll disappear from my life for the next decade or two.

She protests.  She says it won't happen. But I've seen it time and time again.  Baby comes and friendships with non-parents aren't possible.

Oh sure, my friends return, eventually.  They pack their kids off to college, pour themselves a glass of wine and then suddenly the absence of their non-parental friends registers in their consciousness and they give me a call.  

It's always wonderful to reconnect.  But I sure do miss them in the interim.

Alex is a case in point.  We met circa 1985 at the University of Michigan.  He and his girlfriend at the time taught me weight-room basics, how to throw a kickass dinner party for twenty and how to turn academic conferences into wonderful romps.

We've visited back and forth over the years -- most recently in 2000.  Since then, life has intervened...in the form of his two small children.

We reconnected via Facebook a year ago.  Since then, we've tried to chat by phone -- and failed.  We've shared a solid year of phone tag, given our mis-matched schedules.

I doubt we would've been able to break through the parent/non-parent barrier, were it not for my Fifty Frolics project.  Well, that and the San Diego Convention Center.  Happily, all my academic friends visit the SDCC from time to time.  It's only a two hour drive away -- perfect for reconnecting with long distance friends.

When Alex informed me he'd be in San Diego for a conference this month, I saw the opportunity for a frolic.

We hadn't been able to connect on the phone for a year...or to email or Skype or IM or any of these technologies that's shrunk the world...but it was easy as pie to meet in person.  I simply drove down and picked Alex up during a gap in his conference schedule.  We spent the next three hours chatting as we frolicked along the San Diego shore.  

How very good it was to be with my friend, after a twelve year absence.  It didn't seem like we'd been apart at all -- we babbled as if our most recent conversation had been paused days ago. These are the most gratifying of reconnections -- when we slip back into each others' lives as if we'd never been apart. 

When my time with Alex in San Diego drew to a close, we quickly planned a subsequent Frolic -- a canoe outing when I'll be visiting the East Coast in the summer.

Chalk up another victory for the 50 Frolics project:  it provided the impetus to end a twelve year pause in a friendship.

Tracking Progress

Unbelievably, I'm two months into my fiftieth year...meaning that 16.67% of the time I have to complete my 50th projects has elapsed already.  (Not that I'm feeling any pressure to honour my commitments or anything.  Okay, I am.  That's the beauty of blogging about this experience).

Actually, for the most part, I'm doing well, according to the excel spreadsheet I'm using to track my progress. Since 50 Frolics or 50 Books or 50 of anything else averages out to be about one a week, it's easy to tell, at a glance, what's on track and what's not.

I'm farthest ahead in my effort to try (at least) 50 New Recipes this year.  Perhaps this is not surprising, given that I have three opportunities a day to try novel dishes.  (Who am I kidding?  Given my food intake, I have twelve chances a day to experiment with new recipes).

I'm also ahead of the game in my desire to enjoy (at least) 50 Frolics, (at least) 50 Creative Projects and many of the categories for which I'm not recording my experiences online (50 Films, 50 Visits, 50 Treats, 50 CDs).

I'm one short in the number of books I had expected to read by this point...and I'm alright with that.  At this point, I'm well on my way to reading (at least) 50 Books this year.

In contrast, I am much farther behind in my plan to enjoy (at least) 50 Water Visits this year.  I live 40 blocks away from the ocean.  It takes twenty whole minutes to drive to the shore.  As ridiculous as that sounds, it's proving challenging to find the time in my week to get to the shore. I know I'll be visiting waterfront places this summer, so hopefully I'll be able to catch up a bit.  In the meantime, I'm seeking creative ways to meet this goal.

I'm even farther behind in my desire to take (at least) 50 Fitness Classes and (at least) 50 Fun Classes this year.  In a normal year, this wouldn't be an issue -- I adore taking all kinds of classes and am usually enrolled in same.  However, this year, my schedule and my personal responsibilities in tending my mother's estate have interfered.  I've missed registration deadlines and start dates and so forth. I'm not sure how to make up for the weeks I've missed.  Interestingly, I find this turn of events ironic more than troubling.  I certainly don't want these projects to be a source of stress or dismay.

The point of all these '50' projects is to make the most of turning fifty.  The real measure of my progress is to what extent I'm enjoying this year.  By that metric, I'm doing very well indeed.